


Porcelain Skies

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Omegaverse, On Permanent Hiatus, Patriarchy, Politics, Prostitution, Russian Mafia, Sexual Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships, bride prices for omegas, gender shaming, high society - Freeform, mob related violence, mysogny, roman influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Braginski's smile is quite probably the most terrifying thing he's ever seen. His shark analogy was more accurate than he can ever admit, and his father is eating this crap up. His brother, thank god, looks like he might be sick.</p>
<p>He tries his very hardest to force a blush, and when he feels his cheeks heat up, his father lights up.</p>
<p>'Thank you.' He tilts his head down, and hopes it comes across as bashful, rather than a mixture of impending doom and growing hatred."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby Blues

**Author's Note:**

> There are an immense number of trigger warnings here. You have your standard dubious consent for omegaverses, with prostitution, rape, manipulation, arranged (and mostly unwanted) marriages, gang related violence, the works. Pretty much every alpha in this fic is a terrible, misogynistic person, and are true products of their society. This is a dystopia, based off of some Roman governmental and familial pracyices, added in with some classic 50s mafia noir, and a/b/o dynamics. It's a real doozy.

Clack, clack, clack. The sound of his heels against the cement sounded like a standing ovation of the crime surrounding him. His freshly polished shoes spoke of money, along with his custom-tailored suit. He reeked of power, corruption, and alpha. Cheap beta women, and even cheaper omegas call out to him, 

"Mr. Braginski, what a surprise. You never come for my dolls "

"I have not come for them tonight. I am simply taking a walk."

"Through Manhattan? "

"Through Manhattan."

The tall alpha, and the short, balding beta made their way through the crowd of prostitutes, in less than companionable silence, until they reached the corner. The beta gave the alpha a saccharine sweet smile as he turned it, and the alpha, in turn, gave him a sharp look.

"Good night, Mr. Braginski."

Looking up at the sky, the alpha nodded.

"Yes. It is."

\---

Arthur Kirkland was a strategist. As a politician, he could charm anyone into opening their purses, and his wife, Marianne, was graced with the same gift. At sixteen, she had been given to him, for a forty thousand dollar omega-price. Even then, that had been remarkably cheap. Their own son, Alfred, had started at seventy thousand, but that price was quickly growing with every incoming suitor. This very evening, they were expecting another alpha, one who Mr. Kirkland was eagerly expecting. Kirkland was a senator, and was one of the top contenders for a consul position. He could use powerful friends, and Ivan Braginski was one of the most powerful friends an alpha could have. He towered over most alphas at six foot six, and if you could land a blow against him, you would die in glorious, bone crushing agony. He controlled much of the crime in this part of the country, and Arthur, in turn, would have some control over Braginski, if only he could interest him in his boy.

Alfred Kirkland, his only omega child, was the perfect bait to catch an alpha like Braginski. Tall, slim, with long legs, and a perfectly tapered waist. His blonde hair and blue eyes were as All-American as it got, and the demure little blinks his mother had taught him to use could raise his omega-price exponentially. 

Except, the little blonde beauty that Arthur Kirkland prided himself on, did not want any of it. He was smart, smarter than many of his alpha suitors, and he had subtly priced out almost all of his suitors. The only ones he hadn't managed to shake off were a Frenchman by the name of Francis Bonnefoy, and a German by the name of Gilbert Beilshmidt. They were both dripping in money, and took full advantage of it. Francis took to wearing heavy cologne, and Gilbert rubbed his own pheromones on his clothes, but underneath it, both reeked of the dollhouses, the distinct odor of cheap perfume, alcohol, and sex that permeated the air at night, when he had passed dolls on the street. His father always held tight to him, and he would never try to fight it. Alfred could never pass for an alpha, even if he wore a suit instead of his delicate silk dresses. He wasn't trying to escape, end up as a doll, with his long blonde lashes covered in more makeup than is healthy, corset too tight, and too revealing. He's just trying for his best option, and in his opinion, neither Bonnefoy nor Beilshmidt qualified.

So now, as his mother fussed over him, he was praying that this latest alpha would either have some redeeming quality, or was priced out easily.

She tugged the laces of his corset tighter, and tied them firmly. 

"Alfred, you are moving too much. Your makeup will smear, and we will have to start over."

"Sorry, Mother."

She pressed the eyeliner over his skin, making curls at the crease of his eyes.

"There we are. Mr. Braginski will appreciate my handiwork, I'm sure."

He resisted the urge to scowl, and pursed his lips instead. Just a few hours out pricing Braginski, whoever that was, and he could go back to doing whatever he liked. 

"Hm... Blue, or white... Alfred, come here, and hold these up to your skin... Mm.. White, I think. He looks like an alpha who values innocence."

She tied the laces of his dress, and clasped a gold necklace to his throat.

"Now, recite."

He changed the pitch of his voice, and listed. "Eyes down, hands folded, polite, demure, don't speak unless spoken to, no strong opinions, discuss children often and easily, don't mention an alpha other than father, and don't be heavy handed when discussing money."

"Very good, Darling. Your feet aren't quite angled correctly, though. One foot is too far in front of the other. There you are. Lips tighter, yes, like that. Perfect. Ah, shoes, Alfred."

He repressed a sigh, and pressed his feet into the high-heels she handed him. He waited for her to leave, counted to twenty, and began his even glide down the stairs.

\----

Alfred Kirkland was beautiful. That was a fact, and, another fact was that Ivan Braginski wanted him. His father went through the pleasantries, but they were both waiting for the moment that Kirkland's boy came down the stairs. And he did not disappoint. Blonde, with blue eyes, and painted red lips that made him think of all the things he wanted to do to him, the perfect little O's he can imagine that mouth making while he pounds into his delicate frame. His eyes tilt down, and he looks more elegant than any omega he's ever seen. 

When the omega reaches the bottom of the stairs, he looks up at him from under long, blonde eyelashes. He blinks just often enough to be tantalizing, although he highly doubts that he realizes that. 

"Good evening, Father. Mr. Braginski, it is a pleasure to meet you."

He tilts his head with a demure little smile, and he wants to devour him. He gives him his most charming smile, and takes his hand, pressing it to his lips.

"It is my pleasure, Ms. Kirkland."

He giggles, and Ivan has the well-worn feeling of being a wolf, and, oh, what a beautifully tempting little sheep Kirkland has. 

\---

Alfred's eyes flick over Braginski's head, where his father is mouthing 'Alfred.' This is his father's top pick, then. He wonders if there will be a bidding war, or if Braginski will simply be awarded his courting rights. He's not sure which option he wants more.

"Please, call me Alfred, Mr. Braginski."

The smile Braginski gives him reminds him sharply of a shark, and he has to repress a shudder. He suddenly longs for one of his previous suitors, as he wonders how many people he's killed. The alpha straightens up, towering over him again, and he feels rather like the boy who cried wolf.

"Ivan. Call me Ivan."

\----

The dinner, itself, was beautiful. Marianne, Alfred's mother, had been raised in France, and, although her parents had lost a lot of money by the time she got married, they had been rich enough to send her to one of the most prestigious schools in Britain, where she had learned both how to direct a kitchen, and how to decorate a dining room. As such, the room they currently sat in was furnished exquisitely, in inlaid gold, with complementary trimming, that reminds him distinctly of Kirkland's son. Who, as far as he can tell, is one of the most obedient omegas he's ever seen. 

His father is immensely proud of him, he can tell. And, when his other son, a weak, timid looking beta, rushes in, fifteen minutes late, clothes stained, Ivan can tell why Kirkland is so selective. He has to find an alpha who can both treat his son the way he deserves, and who can actually manage his estate after he dies. As the current patriarch of his family, he is sure Kirkland is obscenely worried about it, going by the appearance of his older son. He makes muttered and desperate apologies, and Kirkland, through his cool façade, looks, for a moment, livid. He quickly replaces the mask, but the look could almost put Ivan's own father to shame.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Braginski. Matthew is a scientist, and he can never seem to tear himself away from his experiments in time to be on time for dinner."

The young man in question ducks his head, and Ivan has to assume how very little time the two brothers must have spent together as children, given that one is a catastrophe, and the other is worth a hundred thousand dollars.

"It is quite alright. Now, what were you saying about the senate?"

"Ah, yes..."

\----

Over the course of dinner, Braginski seems to become a worse, and worse option. He doesn't smell like a doll, not exactly, but he still smells like cheap perfume around the edges, and his resemblance to a shark becomes more and more pronounced as the evening goes on. He's polite and charming, but right underneath the surface, is something that says 'I'm dangerous.' And the way his eyes keep raking over him, covetous, and greedy, is making him nervous.

"Oh yes, Mr. Bra- Ivan. I love children. As a matter of fact, I volunteer at a home, twice a week."

"I think that is a very admirable thing, to give to children who have nothing. And I'm sure they're very grateful to spend time with such a... Beautiful, and kind omega."

Braginski's smile is quite probably the most terrifying thing he's ever seen. His shark analogy was more accurate than he can ever admit, and his father is eating this crap up. His brother, thank god, looks like he might be sick.

He tries his very hardest to force a blush, and when he feels his cheeks heat up, his father lights up.

"Thank you." He tilts his head down, and hopes it comes across as bashful, rather than a mixture of impending doom and growing hatred.

\----

By the time they've made it through five courses of French cuisine, he's determined to win Alfred's courting rights. His father sweeps him into his study, offers him a cigar, and opens his liquor cabinet.

"Choose your poison?"

It's a joke, of course, but, as Kirkland hands him a glass of scotch, he looks directly at the picture on the desk. He's already chosen.

"So, now that you've seen him, what do you think?" What he really means is 'How much?' He takes a drag off of his scotch, and lets him sweat.

"He is very beautiful. Very obedient." Kirkland looks like a cat who caught the canary.

"He is, isn't he? Bonnefoy seems to think so, as well." It's a prod, and he has to prevent himself from gripping the chair too hard.

"Oh? And what, exactly, does Bonnefoy think his beauty is worth?"

Kirkland smirks, and it is decidedly aggravating.  
"Well, he and Beilshmidt have been bidding quite heavily, but at the moment, it stands at one-hundred and fifteen."

He has to push the growl back down his throat, and Kirkland notices it.  
"A hundred and fifteen?" He curls his lips into the most threatening smile he can manage. "Only a hundred and fifteen, for such a creature? I will give you a hundred and twenty five for him." He can just imagine the self-righteous scowl his sister will give him. His smile gets sharper.

Kirkland puffs on his cigar.  
"Hmm... Well, if they don't raise you on that price, perhaps. I'll have to ask them, of course."

He tries not to grit his teeth, and smiles. "Of course."

Kirkland doesn't even bother to take the calls in private, simply dials.

"Hello, Mr. Beilshmidt. I've some business to discuss with your son... Yes, Kirkland. Of course." Kirkland gives him a smile he thinks is supposed to be sheepish, but it just looks sadistic. To have the heir to the Russian mob squirming in his parlor. Kirkland is most definitely enjoying himself.

"Beilshmidt? Yes. A hundred and twenty five. Yes, a hundred and twenty five thousand. Will you bid or not? I haven't the time- Fine. Good night."

He's barely hung up the phone before he's dialing Bonnefoy's number. Doesn't even tell him what Beilshmidt said, and doesn't that drive him insane. He would imagine it was no, but with Kirkland, who knows.

"Hello? Good, glad I caught you. No, no. Well, the bid was raised, but it wasn't by Beilshmidt. One hundred twenty five. I'll ask." He turns back to him. "Would you go to one hundred and thirty five?"

He barely thinks about it. "Yes."

"Could you hear that? Yes, he went up. " He doesn't even turn away this time, just mouths 'One forty' at him. He nods. "Up again. Mm." He takes the phone away again. "Braginski, how high would you be willing to go?" His father said the best. He's found the best, but this is getting out of hand. "One fifty five. I won't go any higher."

"That's interesting. Because Bonnefoy gave me the same number. I suppose that's the grand number. Suppose we see who does the best job at courting, shall we?"

He grits his teeth, but it doesn't change anything. If he bids any higher, Bonnefoy would presumably match him. 

"I suppose we will."

\----

When Mr. Braginski leaves, his father looks immensely pleased with himself.

"Marianne, would you bring Alfred into the study?"

"Of course, darling."

When his mother comes to get him, it feels like a death march. His father, looking like the grim reaper, is sitting on his desk, immensely pleased with himself, he can tell.

"Alfred, I've just managed to arrange for two different alphas to court you. Since they're both willing to pay the same price, you'll get to make the choice yourself." It's a lie. His father will make the choice, long before he asks him, and he'll choose accordingly. But it's a nice show.

"...A choice between who?"

"Braginski and Bonnefoy. I'm sure they'll start setting up courtship outings by tomorrow. I think, given the circumstances, you can go shopping tomorrow."

He smiles his pretty, fake smile. "Thank you, father." He can spend his time dressing for the hounds, because his father found the only two alphas on the east coast that he couldn't out price.


	2. Dollface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alfred Kirkland, who he had been 'friends' with since they were children (They did, actually, like one another, but, even if they hadn't, they would have still had to pretend like they did.) was apparently starting his courtship meetings as well, so the two of them were going shopping together.
> 
> 'Ah, there you are, Paulo. I was starting to worry that you wouldn't be coming.'
> 
> The grins their fathers trade are, quite frankly, a little scary."

Gilbert Beilshmidt, for all intents and purposes, was an only child. For twenty seven years, he had gotten anything and everything he had wanted. And yet, when Kirkland said he had gotten yet another suitor, and had raised the price yet again, he was smart enough to know when to draw the line. So, he had moved on to the next omega he had his eye on. His father was one of the richest men in New York, and the leading retailer in meats in the country. He was a catch.

\-----

Feliciano Vargas, of the Manhattan Vargas', was commonly referred to as an angel. And, in comparison to his older brother, Lovino (also an omega), he was. He cleaned, he cooked, he painted, his dresses were always neat and properly ironed, and what's more, he was docile. He'd never talked back to any adult in his life. Alphas flocked to him, but omegas could never seem to resent him. His friend Sakura always told him that he should be more polite in private, but he didn't really want to. He had spent his whole life being nice to people, and in private, well, he wasn't his brother, but no one could act that perfect twenty-four seven.

But the one thing that no one would ever accuse him of, was being overly intelligent. He wouldn't put it like that, of course. He liked to think of himself as an optimist. So, when the alpha boy he knew as a child re-introduced himself all those years later, he was optimistic that he would be rich enough to court him. They had loved each other as children, why not as adults?

So, when his parents told him that his new alpha suitor was named Mr. Beilshmidt, he knew that God had answered his prayers. With even more enthusiasm than he normally did things, he had pulled out his newest dress, had his nurse tug his corset a little tighter than normal, and had done his makeup with more care than ever before. He had to make a good impression (even if it wasn't a first impression). He had to keep himself from skipping (he might kill himself in these heels) down the stairs, and he had to remind himself to calm down, so that his parents wouldn't suspect anything. He couldn't quite remember the last time he had been this excited. Ludwig was a wonderful alpha, and he was very excited.

\-----

Paulo Vargas, the son of Consul Vargas, whom the public had loved and adored, had been a very rich man, indeed. But, like all things, his wealth had come to a sloping decline, due, primarily, to Roderich Edelstein, a supplier of the highest quality dolls in the city. Of course, to have this released to the public would lead to his ruin (even though most alphas were guilty of the same), so he had to get his sons (both omegas, thank the lord) married off to rich young alphas. His older son, Lovino, was impressively difficult to find a suitor for, given that the omega in question believed firmly that societal views and expectations of omegas were unjust, an opinion he voiced to anyone and everyone who would (or wouldn't) listen. His younger boy, Feliciano, in comparison, had alphas practically tripping over themselves to court him, but none had pockets quite deep enough to please him, so Feliciano was currently up to his twentieth suitor, a Mr. Beilshmidt, the eldest son of Sebastian Beilshmidt.

\-----

This was it. He was getting married in two months, he just knew it. He was entirely prepared to see his fiancé- until he wasn't.

Because Mr. Beilshmidt, as it was, was not the alpha he was expecting. He was slightly shorter (although still much taller than Feliciano) than Ludwig, with shocking white hair, and, as he turned around, startlingly red eyes. He remembered, at finishing school, someone telling him that one of the alphas at the college across town suffered from albinism, and he supposed that Mr. Beilshmidt must be it. 

"Ms. Vargas, it's a pleasure to meet you."

\----

There were very few things that Feliciano had ever been truly right about, if he was being truthful. He could maybe count on two fingers the number of times that being right had made him happy, though. This, the knowledge that he was, actually engaged, and not to the right alpha, was not amongst those things. And he'd be expected to be excited, and tell his friends all about it, and all about the gifts he would bring him during the courtship, and- and- he finally knew what Lovino meant about courtships.

\----

"It's disgusting! He parades you around like a prize animal, and you just follow along like an idiot!"

"Lovi, what would you do? Would you like to end up like Great Aunt Maria?"

His brother blanches, then goes bright red. "So what? I don't bring in the money, and he throws me to the wolves?! You think that's fair?! You think that's right?!"

"Well, I-"

"If you do, you're even more brainwashed than I thought you were."

His brother, picking up his skirts, crosses to the door. "I'm sure his choice in alphas has nothing to do with their bank account. I'm sure that Mr. Beilshmidt is a good person. Won't visit the dolls all the time. Won't make you sell your children, the same way he is selling you." He slams the door behind him, and for the first time in ten years, Feliciano clutches a pillow, and sobs.

\----

The next morning, his father takes a detour from going to work, and ushers him from house to car, from car to house all the way into the Kirklands' house. Alfred Kirkland, who he had been 'friends' with since they were children (They did, actually, like one another, but, even if they hadn't, they would have still had to pretend like they did.) was apparently starting his courtship meetings as well, so the two of them were going shopping together.

"Ah, there you are, Paulo. I was starting to worry that you wouldn't be coming."

The grins their fathers trade are, quite frankly, a little scary.

"The traffic is atrocious. You might be better off walking."

"I would have them walk, but I'm afraid that Laurinaitis doesn't know the way." His hand claps a tall, dark haired alpha on the shoulder. He flinches.

"Ah, yes. I forgot about your little watchdog."

The young man looks acutely uncomfortable, and Alfred takes that moment to show up, impeccable as usual.

"Feli!" It's not a shout, not really, his father would never let him get away with it, but it is louder than his usual tone of voice. Alfred, with his pretty dress that looks even more expansive than Feliciano's, somehow manages to almost glide across the room, and all the while, look excited and respectful, a skill that Feliciano hasn't quite managed to perfect yet.

Alfred practically sweeps him up, and, as they kiss each other's cheeks, he notices that the young man next to Alfred's father is watching Alfred with an expression that can only be described as longing. He wonders if Alfred's father knows about that.

"Good morning Father, Mr. Vargas."

"Good morning, Alfred. Well, Laurinaitis, it's up to you now. Marianne, you'll be going with them, yes?"

"Of course, darling. Just let me get my coat."

The Kirklands, with practiced precision, move like dancers, sweeping up coats and handbags, handing off bills and exchanging affections. They act like a well oiled machine, and it almost makes his head hurt to see how fast they move. If his father wanted to say anything, his chance was lost. He's actually glad. He doesn't particularly want to talk to his father, especially not after his conversation with Lovino last night.

\-----

When they've all been hustled into the car, Alfred finally slows down. He settles into a comfortable lull of passing gossip back and forth, something that they both learned to do practically before they could walk. He wonders, though, why Alfred seems so tense, and with the way that their body guard is staring at him, by the time that they reach the boutique, he feels like their car is going explode.

Thankfully, (or perhaps not), as Alfred's mother shoves clothes at them, there is very little room for talking, aside from the most superficial of commentaries on different choices. While the alpha shop keeper is practically salivating at Mrs. Kirkland's purse, his assistant (who looks like his son) is giving Feliciano the same look. He is distinctly, painfully reminded of what his brother had said the night before, and he feels nauseous as he practically cowers from behind Alfred. He wonders if this is what courting is like, and prays that it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so, this got a way larger response than I was expecting it to, or even hoping it would, so thank you to everyone who left comments/kudos, and if anyone would be interested in betaing for me, so I can stop bothering my friend with it, that would be amazing.


	3. Little Miss Know-It-All (Don't Know Anything)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bonnefoy wants to buy him through expense gestures, which does not surprise him. On the other hand, as he thinks of Braginski, and his smiles, maybe Bonnefoy is not such a terrible option. At least he won't rip him apart (probably). It's a moot point, because of course his father would never let him make a decision this important to his own political career."

Yao Wang, the stepson of Senator Honda, was the first, (and, in all likelihood, last) omega professor at the University of Manhattan. His stepfather, obviously, did not approve of his having a profession, but given that at twenty-three, he was practically a spinster, and was likely to remain so in the future, the money from said profession went directly to his stepfather, and he could not actively complain about it. What his stepfather did not know, however, and of course, could not know, was that Yao was going to get married. Not objectively, not wishful thinking, in actuality, he was going to get married. There would, obviously, be none of that courtship nonsense that most people engaged in, and his fiancé would give his stepfather a flat, low price, despite his hatred of the whole practice. All of this, however would be merely a formality, as, really, they might as well already be married. They loved one another, they made love (although they of course didn't spend his heat together, for obvious reasons) they were together, in both the broader and baser senses of meaning. All he needed to make it official was to have the law proclaim him Mrs. Ivan Braginski.

Ivan's sister was entirely supportive of their getting married, and her omega, Feliks, was actually excited about it, something that Yao really appreciated.

\-----

"Good morning, Vanya." Yeketerina Braginski was not a normal alpha, at least as far as her father was concerned. She wanted nothing to do with the mafia, except, of course, living off the profits of it. 

Her brother, as far as she was concerned, was like-minded, and the fact that he was going to marry an omega of profession only cemented her beliefs.

"Mm. It is, isn't it?"

Her father, who was a commanding man, would obviously not approve, but Ivan's good mood this morning left her hopeful that he would finally stand up to their father.

Think of the devil, and he will appear. Their father, a tall, dangerous looking alpha, despite being in his early sixties, could put fear into the heart of anyone fool enough to say a wrong word around him.

As he took his seat at the head of the table, her little sister, Natalya, drifted into the seat next to Ivan. Her own omega saunters in at the last moment.

"Yeketerina, can you not control your wife, if only to make him appear on time?"

"He is my wife, Father, not my slave. Feliks can show up at whatever time he pleases."

Her father's eyes are deadly, but she squares her chin, and glares back. "You and your ridiculous notions of relationships! If it were up to you, omegas would be out of control, no authority, no restraint. You should thank God that your siblings don't take after you."

She suddenly finds her breakfast very interesting, and wishes that she were less inclined to give in to her father. Feliks, in his usual attitude, presses his hand to her shoulder, and whispers filthy things in her ear.

\---

As his father shoots his sister livid looks, he can't help but be rather pleased. His sister, and her self-righteous, ridiculous notions of equality, are to thank for his becoming his father's heir. While his sister may be the eldest, he will be in charge. And when he is, his sister will either toss her ideas out, or he will throw her, and her impudent omega into the streets.

"Ivan, have you managed to find an appropriate omega yet? You've been interviewing for months now."

"I have, actually. You remember that senator, the ambitious one, who wanted you to help him in his bid for Consul?"

"Kirkland. I remember."

"He's agreed to let me share courting rights."

"Share? Ivan, you are a Braginski. We do not share anything, unless they are bullets. And how much, exactly, have you signed yourself up to pay for this sharing?"

"One hundred and fifty five."

His father spits out his coffee so violently he is practically spitting fire.

"One hundred and fifty five?!"

"You told me to set up good connections. And he is very beautiful."

"Ivan, there is no omega on this planet that is worth that much!"

"His father is halfway to becoming Consul, and he has no alpha children. His only other child is a pathetic beta. If I marry his son, I take over not only our family, but I will take over his. It is a good business venture."

"You have lost your head over an omega, and are covering it up with platitudes. Fine. Court him. But if you marry him, I will expect Kirkland to do his damndest to pass laws that make things a little... Looser, for our newest enterprises. And if you don't, then you will marry an omega of my choosing, who will be as repulsive as I can find, to teach you the value of thinking with your other head!"

His jaw tightens, and his father, eyes glinting dangerously, strides out of the room in a fashion that means someone is going to pay in blood for that conversation.

"Ivan, what have you done? You were going to marry Yao!"

"I was never going to marry Yao, and if you believed any of what I told him, then you are more naïve than he is!" Following his father's exampe, he casts his napkin back onto the table, and leaves. He can hear his little sister's shoes clacking against the floor, and he slows his pace.

"Vanya!"

"Natasha, I am not feeling particularly sociable at this moment."

"I want to know who Yao is."

"No one."

"You two never tell me anything! I'm not a little girl anymore!"

"Natasha. You are an omega. Some things are not appropriate for your ears. "

"But-"

"No. You have to learn to behave."

He turns, and heads up to his office. She contemplates throwing something at the wall.

\---

"Kirkland Residence. Is Mr. Kirkland available? He should be expecting my call. My name is Ivan Braginski."

"Thank you, Michelle... Braginski, I was wondering when you'd call."

"I wanted to arrange a courtship outing, if you're not otherwise distracted."

"That's fine, just fine." He can just imagine Kirkland's smirk.

"Would this Saturday be convenient for you?" He doesn't give a damn about whether or not it's convenient, but he has to at least pretend to be courteous.

"Mm, yes, that should be sufficient. Have you selected the establishment?"

"I had thought of the..."

\---  
Through the door, they could hear what her brother was saying, until they began discussing restuarants, at which point she couldn't hear his voice.

"Disgusting."

Feliks sniffs, and they walk away. "Your brother is a terrible person."

She doesn't have to say anything for him to know she agrees.

\-----

"Do you want to get married?"

"That depends. To those two," Alfred shudders, "no. I wouldn't mind it, otherwise."

They're whispering, interspersed with laughter, or loud commentaries on gossip, so Alfred's mother won't know what they're talking about.

"Do you?"

"I... I did. But, now..."

"They're terrifying, aren't they?"

He nods helplessly, and Alfred offers him a hug. He takes it, and clings to his shoulder.

\------

"Ms. Kirkland, how lovely you look today."

Fake giggle behind his hand, and his father again mouthing 'Alfred.' Apparently, a promise to buy your son earns you the right to the illusion of intimacy with him. 

"Alfred, please."

Bonnefoy takes his arm from his father, and they nod to one another. Toris shifts his gun holster in a way that could be threatening, and he's glad that Toris is there.

As they walk through Central Park, he has to constantly remind himself to relax, although Bonnefoy never moves his hand from his arm.

"I do hope that you like old-fashioned romance, Alfred. I have been relishing this chance to properly dote on you, as an omega of your beauty deserves."

Bonnefoy wants to buy him through expense gestures, which does not surprise him. On the other hand, as he thinks of Braginski, and his smiles, maybe Bonnefoy is not such a terrible option. At least he won't rip him apart (probably). It's a moot point, because of course his father would never let him make a decision this important to his own political career.

"Are you trying to be my Prince Charming, Mr. Bonnefoy?" He blinks the way his mother told him to, and the look in Bonnefoy's eyes is almost enough to make him re-think his evaluation. Almost.

"Francis, Cher. If I say yes, will you agree to be my princess for the evening?"

"I suppose..." He offers him a smile, and Bonnefoy gives him a look that makes Toris adjust his gun again, audibly.

He apparently intends to play up his gentlemanly behavior, because when the horse-drawn carriage pulls up in front of them, he offers him a hand, and even lets Toris into the carriage before him. Toris, of course, as their chaperone, sits between them, but apparently Bonnefoy is incapable of not showing off, even at the possible threat of bodily injury, because as they go through the park, whenever you can catch sight of the skyline, Bonnefoy takes the time to point out each one of the buildings that his company has built. With the sheer number of them, he can just imagine the amount of blackmail he has against the alphas of New York City. He can just imagine what his father would do with that.

He has to admit (albeit very grudgingly), that it is rather interesting. As Bonnefoy explains just how they place all the glass panes on the skyscrapers, the carriage comes to a stop.

"Perhaps, if you like, I could finish explaining later."

Despite himself, his curiosity is peaked, so he smiles. "I would."

Bonnefoy climbs out and pays the driver, then helps him out of the carriage.

As they exit the park, Bonnefoy guides him to an upscale French restaurant, where the host, a poor alpha who leers at him until Bonnefoy glares at him, shoulders squaring.

"I had a reservation for Bonnefoy."

The alpha, who looks like a miserable creature, glares right back, and doesn't even bother to look at the books.

"I don't see a reservation here, sir."

Bonnefoy looks livid, and a floor manager catches sight of them.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, we have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Pierre was quite pleased to hear that you had started a courtship process. And of course, you must be Ms. Kirkland. Lovely to meet you."

He smiles, and ducks his head. "I didn't catch your name, sir, but it is a pleasure all the same." 

"Ah, how thoughtless of me! Raoul Allemand. I am the manager of this fine establishment. Seamus, stop skulking about, and get the reservation for Mr. Bonnefoy!"

"Allemand, you know that I loath to judge your choice in wait staff, but given the inappropriate nature of this boy's behavior, I really must voice a complaint. He had the utter gall to tell me that there was no reservation under my name."

Apparently, Bonnefoy is either related to the owner, or their best customer, because the boy is hauled outside by the burly guards, and Mr. Allemand shows them to a table, set with candles, and, unlike the other tables, (and rather cliché) rose petals. Scratch that, Bonnefoy is definitely related to the owner. He can hear Toris snort from behind him, and he's inclined to agree.


	4. Not A Chapter

God, I hate having to make two of these announcements, but, as of now, this fic will not be updated again. I had a lot of ambition, but I got into a new fandom, and since this one is pretty much dead at this point, I just don't have the energy to finish it. Sorry, guys.


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